Page 43 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
Part of him wanted to go and ask them what they were discussing, but he was not in the mood to do so. He passed by and continued on to his quarters, hoping she didn’t see him, as he wasn’t ready for another confrontation of any kind.
He found his bath ready, and an array of bathing oils had been placed by the tub for him. He shook his head and swiped all the vials to the side. With one hand, he grabbed them all and placed them in a cabinet near the window.
He reached underneath his bed and pulled out a purple vial—the one Keira had handed to him the previous day—before heading back into the bathing chamber.
As he submerged himself into the cold water, thoughts of the cèilidh crossed his mind. It shouldn’t be hard to find a new husband for the widow.
What he needed to control was the knot in his stomach that continued to tighten at the mere thought of Keira with another man.
Harold had left barely a few hours ago, and Keira found herself alone once again. Lesley had gone into the village to treat some woman who fell from a tree the previous night and had not been able to walk ever since.
She had grown used to silence in the castle for quite some time. There were some days when she would just watch the trees and feel the wind blow in rather harshly from the courtyard. But for some reason, today’s silence felt completely different. It was as if she had never experienced silence before, and this was her first time.
Was this another effect Evander had on her? Was he the cause of this? Had this man somehow made his absence boring and even more incredibly so for her?
This couldn’t work. She would rather find something else to do than submit to that fact.
She asked her maid to fetch her gloves and garden shears. She might as well tend to her garden anyway.
Stella returned just a few minutes later with the necessary materials.
“How are Kincaid’s people settling in?” Keira asked, sticking her hands into one of the gloves as she awaited a response from her maid.
“Very well,” Stella responded.
A beat of silence followed her words. Something about it made Keira realize there was more. There was more to be said and her maid was refusing to speak.
“What?”
Stella frowned. “What?”
“That look on yer face tells me that’s nae everything. So, what is it?”
“It is nay matter. The Laird had dealt with it.”
Keira frowned.
Dealt with it?
“Stella, if something is happening under me roof and ye refuse to tell me, do ye ken how that might look?”
Stella looked down and swallowed as Keira reached for the second glove.
Another beat of silence followed—one Keira drew out as long as possible. If there was one thing she had learned about her maid in the past few months, it was that she hated uncomfortable silences.
“Do ye remember that… night?”
Stella swallowed, and Keira could tell she knew what she was talking about.
“The night we—I found Fletcher’s body.”
A mild shudder ran through her as she recalled the tragic scene, the same one that had solidified her place as the lady of the castle nonetheless. Yet, whenever she remembered it, she couldn’t help but feel a chill run down her spine.
“I didnae speak that night,” she continued anyway, pushing away the images of her dead husband before they turned into something that would scar her soul. “Ye were so uncomfortable that night. Ye kept speaking to me, asking if I needed anything, and every time, I would tell ye nay.”
“That was quite the horrible night for everybody,” Stella mumbled.
Keira laughed. The one thing she had been mostly worried about that night had not been Fletcher’s death. She barely knew the man. She got betrothed to him mainly out of duty. She was one of those women who had married to secure an alliance. Her father was a Lowland laird who had never been satisfied with what he had.
